I'm not insane
by 666-HyuugaNeji-999
Summary: Spin-off from 'Sam Interrupted' contains slight spoilers for Seasons 4 and 5 What happens when Sam is kidnapped from Glenwood Springs? And can he and Dean bounce back from it? NOT wincest XD Rated T for violence. Better summary inside! :P COMPLETE
1. Part 1: Removal

**Hello, me again :) I know what you're all thinking: _Why aren't you focusing on finishing the other stories you've already started, instead of starting a new one? _But I just figured, it's a completely different category from anything I've written before, so it won't interfere too much, and it's mostly written already (kinda), so shouldn't be too many problems there :) But yaknow, say what you like about it, I don't mind. **

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Anyway, summary:

**What if Sam (AKA: Alex) **_**had **_**been moved to another establishment after his attack on the doctor? What if, by the time Dean (AKA: Eddie) got to his room, he was already gone? And what if the person in charge of taking him away wasn't really a person at all?**

**I know it's a lot of what ifs, but hear me out, kay? **

**The title comes listening to Avenged Sevenfold while writing the plan for this story, I thought it seemed appropriate ;-)**

**It starts out as an alternate plot-line for the episode titled 'Sam, Interrupted', but I tweaked one little detail to suit the outline of the story and it kinda spiralled from there. Basically, instead of it being a wraith feeding on brain juices, it's a vampire-wraith-thingy feeding on the mental patients' blood. (Oh, and it can change a human into one of them, too, but with things like teeth, it's different from ****the other vampires in Supernatural.) **

**Enjoy (and review please!)**

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**Removal**

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Dean moved slowly along the corridor, looking over his shoulder every few feet. Panic threatened to overwhelm him as he saw nurses looking at him with strange or pitying looks. He knew he must look crazy (Hello! Mental institution!), but he didn't care; all he cared about was finding his brother. Who else could he trust in here?

Finally he reached the door and carefully pushed it open. "Sam?" he said tentatively, poking his head round the door.

No one was there. The room was empty; the sheets had been removed and there was nothing left on the bedside cabinet except an old, battered copy of the New Testament.

"Dammit…" He went in and sat on the bed, his head in his hands. _What now?_

"Eddie? What are you doing in here?"

It was Dr Fuller.

Dean looked up, filling his expression and voice with not-entirely feigned worry. "Has something happened to my brother, doctor? Only, I can't find him…"

The doctor gave a sigh and went to sit next to him on the bed. "I'm afraid we have had to take Alex to another establishment. His anger is out of control, and we were forced to remove him for his own safety, not to mention the safety of the other patients and staff here."

Dean's jaw dropped; he didn't have to feign the look of horrified shock on his face. _Sam's…gone?_ "Where'd you take him?" he demanded.

Dr Fuller shook his head. "There would be no point in my telling you, as you're in no position to go and visit him. My colleagues tell me you were hallucinating earlier?"

Dean's eyes narrowed slightly. "Really?" he said, forcing his tone to be casual.

"Apparently you were arguing with an invisible person," the doctor said, raising an eyebrow. "Would you care to explain that, if it wasn't a hallucination?"

For the first time that day, Dean was unable to think of a witty comeback.

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"Where…where are you taking me?" Sam demanded, fighting against the dizziness and fatigue which threatened to overwhelm him at every turn. In the last twenty minutes he'd been given a cocktail of tranq drugs and as a result, he was finding it extremely difficult to even remember where he was, let alone focus on his immediate problem.

"You're to be placed in another establishment where your behaviour can't hurt you or anyone else," the young nurse said kindly, through the Perspex partition. "It's for your own good, honey."

"Wha…?" Sam frowned, struggling to concentrate on what she was saying. He looked down at the straps holding him onto the bench in the back of the van, wondering briefly why they'd bothered. With so many sedatives in his system, he'd be amazed if he could even stand up.

"Almost there, sweetie," she said, turning a corner.

_Where?_ he wanted to ask, but the drugs were taking control; his eyes closed and he passed out, his head falling back onto the padded bench with a dull _thump_.

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**Hope you liked, sorry it was a bit short :P More like an intro, really. Next one should be a bit longer :)**

**Anyway, as always R and R, please let me know what you think, criticisms are welcome, but no flamers. I'll just laugh at you. **

**See ya! ^_^**


	2. Part 2: Anger Issues

**Hello again :P Two uploads in one day, gotta be a record for me! XD**

**Anyway, many thanks again to my one reviewer: T. ^_^ **

**Hope that number increases soon (hint hint) :D**

**Onwards!**

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**Anger issues**

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Sam struggled to open his eyes. Everything was blurry; it was as if he was looking through a sheet of misted glass.

He blinked again, shaking his head slightly. This turned out to be a mistake: a stab of white hot pain seared just behind his eyes. He moaned, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to make the pain stop.

"Finally. I was just starting to get bored."

His eyes snapped open. Despite the pain it caused, he automatically turned his head to follow the sound of the voice.

"That's it, honey. Nice and slow." The voice seemed familiar, but he couldn't still quite place it.

He forced his eyes to focus and found that he was looking at the young nurse, who was sitting in a chair a couple of feet away. _What was her name? Katie… Kylie? _As he glanced down at himself, he saw that he was still strapped down, unable to move anything below the neck by more than an inch. "Where am I?" he asked, surprised that it came out so coherently while his brain was still filled with thick pink fog.

"There really isn't a lot of point in telling you, seeing as you're not going anywhere anytime soon." She smiled, but the expression didn't reach her eyes.

"But…" Something in his mind suddenly clicked into place. "Where's Eddie? Is my brother here?"

"You mean Dean? Because that's his real name, isn't it, Sam?"

"Y-What?" He stared at her; suddenly he remember her name, not that it helped him any. _Karla! That was it._

"You lied about your names. I know who you really are, and I know that everything you said to the doctor about the demons, and the apocalypse… All true. Right, Sam Winchester?"

Sam nodded, somewhat reluctantly. There was no real point in continuing the charade. She already knew the truth. Some remote part of his mind noted that the movement didn't cause as much pain this time, and filed the information away for future use.

"So why? Why would you go to all that trouble?" She laughed. "Because you just couldn't bear the thought of all those poor crazy people getting killed, could you?"

"What do you want from me?" Sam demanded, hiding his fear behind a mask of defiance.

Her smile changed from pitying, to hard and mocking. "Can't you guess, Sammy?"

His eyes narrowed at her casual use of his childhood nickname, but trepidation coiled in his stomach like a steel spring. _It was her,_ he thought savagely. _The whole time, we had it wrong… _"You want my blood," he said, bluntly.

Karla, or the semblance of her, smirked, her eyes filled with triumph. "My, my, you _are_ a smart one, aren't you?"

"But…why me? There must be loads of people in that hospital, but you chose _me_." Sam genuinely wanted to know the answer to this question, but at the same time he dreaded what he might hear.

"I saw how you attacked your doctor. The fury which drove you… You were going to kill him; I saw it in your eyes." Her own eyes lit up as she saw his discomfort at the memory. "I couldn't let that much raw power slip through my fingers."

"So… You drink my blood, and suddenly you have my anger issues?" Sam quipped, forcing his expression to remain impassive as he tried desperately to hide his true feelings. This was the _last _thing the world needed: a bloodsucking wraith/vampyre monster on the loose, with the same anger-management problems as an emotionally unbalanced teenager.

"No, silly. I _could _do that, but I'd have to kill you and what would be the fun in that?" She chuckled; the chilling sound echoed off the walls and a shiver ran down Sam's back. "No, I'm not going to kill you, sweetie."

She leaned in, so close that he could feel her soft hair tickling his neck. When her lips were barely an inch from his ear, she whispered, "I'm going to make you _mine_."

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Dean put his head in his hands. _This is hopeless…_

He'd found out nothing new since last night, despite having spent every waking moment asking everyone he could and even talking to other patients (the less mental ones) to try and dig up any new info.

Nothing. Sam was gone, and he had absolutely no idea where.

"Hey, Dean." Martin came over and sat beside him. "You alright? Where's Sam?"

_Good question. _"You haven't heard? They took him away last night." Dean winced at how despondent he sounded, but he couldn't seem to change his tone.

"No…" Martin looked down, shaking his head slowly. "No, they can't have…"

"They have," Dean said flatly. "I have to find him, Martin. I _have _to."

The older man nodded conspiratorially. "We'll be needing a plan then…" He trailed off, looking at Dean expectantly.

"Why are you– Oh, no." Dean shook his head. "I can't get out of this all by myself. If either of us knows this place, it's you."

Martin looked terrified at the idea of such a huge responsibility, but nodded again. "We'll think of something. We'll find Sam."

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**Another short one, but ah well. It does the job :)**

**Hope you liked, as always R and R please. Let's try to get the reviews into double figures soon, shall we? ^_^**

**See ya! :)**

**xoxox**


	3. Part 3: Ultimatum

**Yay, two reviews! ^_^ Thanks, guys :)**

**The rest of you, what're you waiting for? The more I hear from you, the faster I write! :P**

**Anyway, to continue...**

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Ultimatum

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"Right, we'll do it tomorrow," Martin whispered. "In the morning-"

"What? We bust out of here like freakin' Houdini?" Dean raised an eyebrow. _Not likely, what with docs everywhere and that damn wraith still stalking the hospital. _

"Pretty much, yeah." Martin nodded, then froze. "Wait, _we_? No, nonono. _You_'re busting out of here."

"What, you're not comin' with me?"

"How would you explain me disappearing for days, then magically reappearing, Dean?" Martin whispered frantically. "You know I can't stay with you, and the only other option I have is here, or another place like it! It drives us all crazy in the end, hunting, and I just- I just can't…do it anymore. I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean bowed his head, exhaled loudly, then said, "You don't have to apologise, man. It's okay. It's your life; your decision. But I'm not leaving you here until we're sure the wraith ain't gonna kill you too."

"Well, there's an easy way to test that," Martin replied.

The younger man frowned quizzically. "What?"

"See if any of the other patients die tonight."

"How's that gonna help?"

"If the wraith is still here, it'll know that Sam's been moved, so there's less of a threat to it than there was before," Martin explained.

"Oh…" Dean cottoned on. "And that means it's more likely to feed, because there's less chance of it gettin' caught."

"Exactly. And in the meantime, we can come up with your _escape plan_." Martin smiled proudly. "I might not be a hunter anymore, but I can still think like one."

Dean grinned back, a spark of hope penetrating the despair as he thought, _Well, we've survived worse..._

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A strange, tinny sound echoed inside Sam's head. It took him a while to realise that he was hearing his own screams, reflected back off the walls and slowly penetrating the wall of pain around his mind. He'd long since given up trying to fight; that only made it feel worse. Now he just let the pain take over, let the screams pour from his throat like blood from a wound.

But then the pain stopped. Just like someone flicking a switch, the feeling just…vanished.

The last scream faded and he opened his eyes, gasping for air. His head was swimming, but he blinked hard and struggled to focus his vision. "What…" he croaked, his voice hoarse. "What have you…done to me?"

"Nothing much." Karla shrugged, wiping the blood from her lips with the ripped sleeve of his shirt. "The first one is always the worst, I know. It won't be that bad next time, sweetie, I promise."

"N-Next time?" Sam had resigned himself, knowing there was nothing he could do about it, but he hadn't banked on having to go through that _again_. Hell, he hadn't exactly expected it the _first _time!

She didn't reply, but reached instead to her belt and pulled out the knife again. Only this time, it was her own arm she slashed, not his. "Open wide, Sammy…"

His eyes widened in shock and he closed his mouth firmly, gritting his teeth. _No way in hell am I drinking that._ No _way. _

"Now, don't be silly about this. If you don't, the blood loss will kill you." She glared down at him, one hand on her hip like a pissed-off mom dealing with a rebellious teen.

_Good. Better that than being a monster like you,_ he thought savagely, glaring back.

She raised her eyebrows. "Alrighty then, sugar, but remember, I gave you the choice…"

Using the uninjured arm, she reached across him and grasped one of the straps on the side of the bench, designed for holding a patient's head still. Faster than his eyes could follow, she'd pulled it across and fastened it across his forehead before he could react. He tried to turn his head, but couldn't move an inch. _Dammit…_

Now that he was held completely still, she was able to reach over and grip his bottom jaw, trying to force it open. He fought against her, gritting his teeth so hard it hurt, but she just laughed and said, in a sing-song voice, "If I have to break it, I will, Sammy."

Her grip tightened sharply and he gasped as her nails dug in painfully; his lapse in control was great enough that she was able to force his mouth open. "There we go," she said, bringing her other arm over so that the cut was dripping into his mouth. He choked, coughing, and blood sprayed over both of them, peppering them with dark spots. She didn't move, and as his mouth filled with her salty-sweet blood again, she pushed his mouth shut so he couldn't spit it out. Now he was stuck with an impossible choice: choke to death, or swallow. Neither was a particularly attractive option.

Despite his rebellious thought earlier, he was sickened by the realisation that he couldn't do it. He couldn't do the brave thing, the _right_ thing, and die with some shred of dignity.

He wanted to live.

Hating himself for it, self-loathing burning through him like acid, he swallowed.

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**Ta da! Sorry about the cliffy, but it had to be done :P**

**Thanks again to the two lovely people who have already reviewed, and to the rest of you: The green button is there. Right there. It doesn't bite. Just click it. You know you want to. **

**New chapter up soon, promise :)**

**See ya! ^_^**

**xoxox**


	4. Part 4: Signs of Madness

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**Author's Note: **

**I just remembered that I didn't put a disclaimer on any of my previous chapters XD **

**So here it is: I do not own any characters or storylines from Supernatural (yet).**

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Italics

= thoughts

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_Bold italics _

= mental voices (you'll see what I mean ^_^)

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Signs of madness

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_I want to die, I want to die, just let me die, please, let me die, now…_

The blank walls just stared back at him like unfriendly faces, as he lay, shaking, on the padded bench, his insides on fire and his mind filled with an incoherent babble of voices and sounds. He was no longer screaming; he didn't have the energy.

Aside from himself, the room was empty. He didn't know where she'd gone and he didn't want to know. All he wanted now was to escape, to be rescued. To see his brother. Hell, to see another human face would be a good start!

Thinking of Dean just gave the mess of pain and fear in his mind another edge: one of guilt and shame.

_**Dean wouldn't have given in… he would have fought harder. **_

_**…You are WEAK.**_

_SHUT UP!_

_**First sign of madness, talking to yourself.**_

_Oh, yeah?_ he snapped back, despite himself.

_**Second sign. Answering back.**_

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Dean strolled nonchalantly down the corridor towards the 'recreation area', where Martin was already waiting for him, looking expectant.

"Anything?" he asked, as Dean sat down.

He shook his head. "Not a sound. You?"

"Nope."

Dean grinned. "So no-one died!"

Martin shook his head. "No-one died."

Suddenly, it clicked; Dean's smile faltered. "But…that means, if it isn't still here…"

Martin cottoned on. "Then it's gotta be…"

They both looked at each other in horror:

"_Sam_!"

_**

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**_

You could have stopped it.

_**It's your fault…**_

_**Jessica died because of YOU!**_

_Leave me alone! _he screamed, trying desperately to drown out the voices. _Just leave me alone…_ _Please, God, just make them stop…_

_**You're the reason Dean had to go to Hell.**_

_No… Please…_

_**It's your fault John Winchester had to die…**_

_But…Dean-_

_**You should have looked out for him! It's your job to look after your brother. **_

Now the voices changed; became one terribly familiar tone even as he struggled to ignore the taunting in his head. John Winchester's voice somehow stood out above the whispers, every syllable worsening Sam's already-splitting headache.

_**If Dean hadn't been hurt, I wouldn't have had to die. You let me down, Sam.**_

_Dad, I'm sorry… I'm sorry! Please, don't do this… Please, Dad…_ Sam begged.

But he wouldn't stop.

_**This is your own fault, Sam. Everything. Even your mother might have survived if it wasn't for you…**_

_This isn't you, Dad… _Sam fought back desperately. _This is _her_, she's making me think these things, this isn't _real_!_

_**But how can you be sure, Sammy?**_

The voice was no longer his father's; now it sounded like someone he'd been both hoping and dreading to hear.

Dean laughed. The sound was a hard and mocking echo of the real thing, but Sam couldn't tell the difference anymore. _**Baby Sammy… Well, I guess I should've expected it. You always were a little coward…**_

_I'm _not _a coward! _Sam insisted, but his will was growing weaker.

With a surge of terror, he realised he was losing himself in the chorus of sirens.

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"I gotta get outta here. I have to find him, Martin."

Dean paced the floor of his room, his fists clenching and unclenching by turns. They'd been thinking for hours, and nothing had come to them so far that would get Dean out of the hospital without getting him locked up too.

"I know, Dean." Martin sat with his chin in his hands, thinking as hard as he could. Then something fell into place. "Hey, I think I might know a way."

"How? I'm being watched twenty-four hours a day!" Dean whispered as loudly as he dared, all too aware of the cleaner nonchalantly mopping just outside the door. Ever since Sam's…_relocation_, they'd been watching Dean constantly. It was almost like they thought he was gonna go psycho and start attacking people too.

_But that wasn't Sam,_ he reminded himself. _That was the wraith. Sam's not crazy._

"We haven't thought about the 'old-school' method yet." Martin looked up as Dean stopped pacing.

"What? You mean…" Dean frowned, and his lips formed a silent 'o' of realisation. "That's major 'old-school', dude. You sure it'll work?"

"Always does in the movies." Martin grinned.

"Fair enough." Dean sat down on the bed and turned his head to glance sideways at the older man. _This ain't Hollywood; if we screw this up... _"What do we do first, then?"

"You wanna do it _now_?"

"Well, _yeah_." Dean raised his eyebrows. "No time like the present, right?"

"Right. Yeah. Okay." Martin thought for a minute. "We just gotta get you out of the way a bit. Go to the men's room or something. They'll be keeping an eye on you, not me."

"So I keep out of the way, while you take care of it?" Dean said, dubiously. _I don't like this plan..._

"Yeah, pretty much. Think you can handle it?" Martin grinned.

"Let's just get on with it," Dean growled.

_I'm comin' for you, Sam. _

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**Well, another chapter done! Review and let me know what you think, don't be afraid to tell me if something's wrong :) I always value constructive criticism. **

**Thanks to the wonderful people who have already contributed their reviews :P You're awesome! **

**New upload soon,**

**See ya! ^_^**

**xoxox**


	5. Part 5: The 'Old School' Method

**Disclaimer: still stands, regrettably :( Characters are all owned by Eric Kripke, the brilliant mind behind Supernatural. **

**Yay, 8 reviews! Keep 'em coming, guys! :) **

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Escape

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The only sound aside from his own thundering heart was the faint creaking of a door; the sudden sound was enough to have Sam's eyes widening in fear, his heart pounding and sweat beading on his forehead.

"Oh, Sammy… You're not _scared _of me, are you?"

He tensed, instinctively preparing for flight even as his bonds made escape impossible. "You? No," he said, truthfully. _It's not you I'm afraid of…_

Karen smiled wryly. "Not still hearing voices, are you? Because you know, that's not _my _influence. That's all _you_, Sam."

_Don't believe her._ _She's evil, she lies. Don't listen to her!_

"I'm telling the truth, Sam." She took another step forward, so that her face was in his line of sight, and he saw the pitying expression on her face. "If you're going crazy, that's none of my doing."

"I'm not crazy!" he burst out, his nerves at breaking point. "Stay the hell away from me!"

"Ah, but that would _slightly _defeat the point of me being here, Sammy," she purred, moving closer and reaching out to stroke his hair. He wished he could recoil from her touch, but she'd left the strap holding his head still so that he couldn't move away.

"Haven't you taken enough from me?" he asked, feeling faintly disgusted by his failure to keep the pleading note out of his voice.

She chuckled. "Don't worry, Sam. It won't hurt as much this time, I promise." Pulling the knife out of her belt, she set the blade against the skin of his left forearm and slashed across in a straight line parallel to the first cut. The sting of the blade didn't seem as sharp as it had the first time, but maybe that was just because he was expecting it to.

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Dean whistled carelessly to himself as he wandered into the men's room on the first floor. _This is the easiest plan I've ever been part of,_ he thought, amused. It had only three stages:

Stage One – he had to ensure that only one person was watching him as he entered the men's room. This wasn't hard; the corridor was deserted apart from him and a (apparently) distracted secretary who was immersed in the contents of his clipboard. (Dean had found out quite quickly that it was hard to trust anyone when everyone thinks you're crazy.)

Stage One was complete; he proceeded to Stage Two – he had to get the witness alone in the room with him. Before too much time passed, risking someone else turning up, he thumped the side of the sink to make a loud noise, then called for help. The secretarial assistant came running in and, right on cue, came into direct contact with Dean's fist.

"Sorry, buddy," Dean muttered, catching him before he hit the floor and sitting him on the floor against the wall, shutting the door and wedging it with the clipboard.

Commence Stage Three – wait for the signal. Dean leaned against the wall beside the unconscious man, clicking his tongue with impatience. _Come on, Martin …_

Barely a minute later, as if Martin had sensed Dean's impatience, the fire alarm suddenly started ringing, echoing all around the room off the tiled walls. Dean snickered, muttering, "Oldest trick in the book," as he braced himself against the door. If they thought the room was locked, they wouldn't bother opening it to evacuate.

"Hello? Anyone in there?" someone called, about a minute later.

Dean said nothing, his eyes fixed on the man across the room, willing him not to come to _just _yet. That was the last thing he needed: someone discovering them and ruining the plan.

They banged on the door, then tried the handle (he tensed) but whoever was knocking seemed to assume it was locked and left. Only when he could hear absolute silence on the other side did Dean move away from the door and open it a crack. There was nobody in the corridor; he glanced over his shoulder at the man, who was beginning to stir, and quickly exited, walking quickly towards the kitchens where Martin had told him there was a back exit. By now, the patients and staff should be well on their way to the gathering-point at the front of the building, so there should be nobody between Dean and his freedom.

He hoped.

* * *

Before starting the plan itself, Dean had made sure to find out where Sam's things (and therefore his things too) had been taken. The locker room was, by a happy coincidence, only a few yards from the door that was his escape route. It was bizarre, he reflected, how he could escape from prison or get away from Feds without breaking a sweat, but this had his heart behaving like a jackhammer. _It's not like I've even done anything wrong this time!_ _Although,_ he mused, _the stakes aren't usually this high…_

He reached the lockers and scanned them quickly. _677, 677… Aha. _Reaching down to his foot, he pulled a long thin wire out of his sock. "Ouch," he hissed as it scratched up the side of his ankle.

It only took a few seconds of twisting the wire in the lock to get it open. He grabbed the bag, checked all their stuff was still in there and slung it over his shoulder. As creepy as it was, being alone in the wing of the hospital, he was grateful not to meet anyone until he was close enough to the gates that he could start running.

The sight of the Impala, waiting for him by the side of the road, was the most beautiful thing he'd seen in what felt like a very long time.

"Hey, babe…" He opened the trunk and grabbed his bag, pulling out a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. It was such a relief to get out of that stupid gown-thing he'd had to wear for the last few days.

As he pulled away from the curb and started back towards the centre of town, he looked in his rear-view mirror for a moment. "Thanks, Martin," he said, fervently. _Man, I hope we're right, _he added silently.

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**Another one done... This one's more like a filler than a chapter, and I apologise for the shortness and lack of actual storyline in this, but I had to get Dean out of there somehow :P**

**As always, review please, if only to tell me I've done something wrong :) I value all comments. **

**See ya! ^_^**

**xoxox**


	6. Part 6: Reinforcements

**Disclaimer: still do not own any characters or plotlines from Supernatural, the fantastic TV show created by Eric Kripke. Dang it...**

**Double figures with the reviews, great stuff! Keep it comin', people! :)**

**Anyway, onward...**

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**Reinforcements**

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"Hush-a-bye, Sammy…" Karen crooned, stroking his cheek with one finger, not caring that she left a dark red smear down the side of his face. His screams had faded to a low whimper every now and then, but his eyes still betrayed the terror and pain he was feeling. He didn't even have the will to feel repulsed by her touch. For the second time, she'd force-fed him her blood, and for the second time, he was experiencing something akin to what swallowing neat bleach must feel like; his stomach felt like it was being shredded from the inside and the salty-metallic taste was making him feel sick.

"Told you it wouldn't be as bad, didn't I, honey?" She laughed at the look on his face. "Come on, you were screaming for _hours_ last time!"

_Don't remind me…_ He winced; his stomach prickled again and he moaned. Slowly, he managed to relax his jaw muscles and unclench his teeth. "Is…is that it?" he whispered. "Are you done?"

She grimaced and shook her head. "Sorry, kiddo. One more time, _then_ we're done."

_I've seriously gotta get out of here,_ Sam thought for the millionth time. He didn't know how long he'd been held prisoner; hell, he didn't even know what day it was! Some detached part of his mind noticed that despite the amount of time he'd been there, he wasn't hungry or thirsty. Maybe it hadn't been all that long; maybe it was just the torture that made it feel like years…

"How long…?" he asked, turning to watch her face.

"Two days, give or take," she replied.

_Two days?_ "But then how…" He trailed off as the answer hit him like a smack in the face.

The blood. It must be serving as some sort of…nourishment, for lack of a better word. His stomach heaved, but the movement just caused another prickle of pain.

Suddenly he was distracted from the pain by another thought.

_Two days… Dean must be worried sick!_

At the thought of his brother, the madness from earlier threatened to rear its ugly head, but he beat it back down by thinking firmly, _Dean's gonna find me. He'll get me out. I know he will. _

_**How?**_

The sudden question almost made him jump, but it showed how accustomed he was to internal conversation that he only hesitated for a moment before answering: _He'll find a way. He always does._

_**Very sure of him, aren't you, Sam? What if something goes wrong? What if something happens to Dean and he **_**doesn't**_** come for you?**_

_He will. He'll come. _

The wraith watched with some amusement as Sam frowned, his closed eyes moving beneath their lids. "Poor Sam. Insanity never proved a very…shall we say, _enjoyable_, escape route."

Sam didn't hear her; all he could hear now was his own thoughts, repeating the same words over and over:

_Dean, where are you?_

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"_Abducted? How's that even possible?"_

"Yeah, tell me about it. He's been missing for almost three days now."

_"You tried calling him?"_

"First thing I tried, man. He's not pickin' up. That means he's in trouble." Dean ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply through his nose. "I could really use your help, Bobby. Can you get down here?"

* * *

Bobby arrived in a cab first thing in the morning; the knock on the door could not have been more welcome.

"When'd you last see him?"

"He was…" Dean racked his memory. "He was goin' after that doctor, the one we thought was the wraith, only he wasn't. And then they said they'd taken Sam away because they thought he was _dangerous._" He snorted derisively. "Kid wouldn't hurt a fly!" Bobby glanced at him, and he quickly added, "Well, unless it was an evil fly from Hell."

"So you don't know where they took him?" Bobby frowned and made a steeple of his hands.

Dean shook his head. "I do know who took him. Well, more like _what_."

"The wraith?"

"Yep."

Bobby grimaced. "You said the wraith was feeding on the patients' blood? Doesn't that make it a _vampire_?"

"That's what I thought, till I found out more about its MO." Dean raised his eyebrows. "It doesn't bite. It cuts them, then drinks from the cut."

"So…it doesn't have fangs like vamps usually have?"

"Looks like it." Flopping down into the other chair, Dean pulled Sam's laptop towards him and opened it. Stifling the pangs that resulted from knowing what Sam would do if he could see his brother using his precious computer, Dean opened the file he'd found online earlier and turned the laptop around to show Bobby. "I found this, it's a list of towns and victims from about 65 years ago up till now. Same range of victims, same MO, same everything. Looks like our friend's been skipping from town to town, feeding from the local crazies."

"Jesus…" Bobby shook his head. "And it's taken Sam somewhere. Why? Why not just kill him like the others?"

"I've been wondering that too." Dean frowned. "She wants him alive for something, that's for sure."

"Can't be good, whatever it is," Bobby added.

"You're telling' me." Dean sighed, snapping the laptop shut. "We gotta find this thing, and fast."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious." The older hunter rolled his eyes and reached for his bag. "Let's get busy."

* * *

**Sorry it took so long to update, technical difficulties coupled with holidays do not make for a quick update XD Back on form now though, new chapter up soon! **

**Thanks to everyone who's already reviewed, every comment is very much appreciated :)**

**See ya! :P**

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	7. Part 7: Escape

**'Sup guys! Sorry it's been so long since I last updated, I got a new computer and it's messed about with my documents XD Fixed now though, so chapters should be up more often :P**

**Disclaimer: I still do not own Supernatural, Sam or Dean. *sigh* Eric Kripke is my oracle :)**

**To continue...**

**

* * *

Escape**

**_

* * *

You're running out of time._**

_Stop it… Just leave me alone!_

**_You know I can't do that. _**The voice, or whatever it was, paused before continuing, **_Do you know what's happening to you, Sam?_**

Sam didn't reply. He knew; he just didn't want to hear it. He groaned, his stomach muscles convulsing as another flare of pain stabbed through him.

**_She's changing you. You're not _human _anymore. You can feel it, can't you? _**

_ I'm not… I'm not a monster!_

**_Not yet._**

Sam opened his eyes, panting. His throat burned, telling him he'd been yelling out-loud. He lay still, not even bothering to see if _she_ was there, and instead fixed his gaze on the pale, cracked ceiling.

_God, please…let someone be listening…_

_ I know we've asked a lot of you in the past, me and my brother both, and I wouldn't blame you if you weren't even listening now, but please, if you are… if you can hear me… Let me die human. Even if I don't live past this minute, if I never see another living face, just please, don't let me turn into a monster like her. _

_ And if I can't, if I change, then please give Dean the strength he'll need. _

_ Give him the strength to kill me. _

* * *

Dean tapped feverishly on the laptop's keys. _There's gotta be something,_ he thought, refusing to believe what the screen was telling him:

A big, steaming pile of nothing.

"Dammit, Sam! You're the researcher, not me!" Dean kicked the leg of the table; pain exploded in his foot, making his eyes water slightly in pain. "_Son_-of-a-!"

His cursing was interrupted by the door-handle turning. As Bobby came in the door and pushed it shut behind him, Dean got up and said, by way of greeting, "You better have something, Bobby, or I'm gonna break something."

"Well, ain't you a cheery one," Bobby replied, then added, "and yeah, I got something, I guess. All the other attacks had something in common, right?"

"Yeah, they were all crazy people, and they all died from blood loss."

"But we're looking for something that doesn't fit the pattern. She broke out of the norm when she took Sam, so there's gotta be something else that's different." Bobby wheeled his chair up to the table. "Why didn't she kill Sam, like the others? What is it about him that's different?"

Dean looked up. "You mean besides the fact that he's got demon-blood in him, and weird psychic powers? Cos that's totally normal!" he snapped.

"Don't get bitchy with me, kid. I'm just trying to help," Bobby replied, without raising his voice; somehow, the quiet tone was worse than shouting. Dean immediately felt ashamed that he'd snapped at the older hunter; after all, Sam was like a son to Bobby. They both were.

"Sorry," he mumbled, looking back down at the table. "I'm just… I'm scared, Bobby."

"I know. We're gonna find him, Dean. I know it."

* * *

The pain was fading; not gone, but it had decreased to a level where Sam was able to think straight. He swivelled his eyes to see as best he could, but the room was empty. Listening, he strained to hear even the slightest sound: nothing.

He was alone.

Then he frowned, thinking hard. The voice, his conscience, or whatever it was, had said something interesting earlier, but he'd chosen not to listen:

'**_She's changed you… You can feel it, can't you?'_**

He clenched his fists, wincing a little as the tension in his muscles made the cuts smart, but at the same time he noticed something else.

He felt _strong_.

_Is it the blood? _he wondered apprehensively, relaxing his hands again and considering. _Well, gotta be worth a shot, if it works anything like demon-blood…_

Despite the fact that he'd tried a million times, and that he'd been straining to get out of his bonds for the last…_gotta be three days by now…_he tensed his arms, pulling sharply against the straps which held him down.

They held, but as he pulled, he heard a small ripping noise, barely audible over his grunt of effort. He tried again, this time pulling for longer. His muscles burned from lack of use and he could feel the edges of the straps cutting into his skin, but he kept pulling. The ripping grew louder until, with a sudden jerk, his arms were free.

"Yes!" he muttered, quickly undoing the strap across his forehead before attempting to sit up, ignoring the stinging pain from the cuts. The room spun sickeningly; he shut his eyes and didn't move until the spinning stopped. The sensation was oddly similar to being extremely hungover, and almost as pleasant.

Once the bindings around his legs and ankles were removed, he swung his legs over the side of the bench and quickly surveyed the room while working the feeling back into his cramped muscles.

It was small, the only furniture a desk, a chair and a cupboard behind the door. There was a cracked mirror hanging on the back of the door; he had to stare hard at his reflection before he recognised it as his own. There was blood smeared on his pale face and a strange look in his eyes; he didn't look like himself at all.

Sam didn't waste time once he was able to feel his legs; he stood up and, holding onto things for support, made his way to the door. He opened it slowly, grateful for its non-squeak hinges, and crept down the corridor he found outside. With no way of knowing which direction was the way out, he nevertheless felt he had to keep moving, so following his instincts seemed like the right thing to do. There was no way he was going to be a sitting duck if – when – she came back.

He'd never been so grateful for his good instincts as he was the moment he saw the door marked 'Fire Exit'. _Thank you, thank you,_ he thought to whoever had heard his prayers and allowed him to escape.

**_Don't get complacent. You're not out yet._**

_Get the hell out of my head!_ Sam pushed the pessimistic thought to the back of his mind. He couldn't afford to lose sight of the finish now, not when he was so close.

* * *

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	8. Part 8: Revelation

**Me again! Thank you, everyone who has reviewed :P You people are the reason I keep writing :)  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or Sam and Dean Winchester. Imagine if I did though... ;-)**

**Anyway, let us continue...  
**

**

* * *

Revelation**

**_

* * *

_**

The sight of the road filled Sam with a sense of relief and hope; a blank stretch of damp tarmac had never looked so beautiful. He ran, his muscles screaming with every step, but he didn't stop. He couldn't.

He didn't want to think about the source of his new-found strength. Her blood wasn't as potent as the demon blood he'd so recently kicked the habit of drinking, but it was close enough. He wondered randomly if it would have the same effect on his demon-ass-kicking abilities.

As his feet pounded the tarmac, the sound made him wince, but he didn't dare slow down. He had no idea where she was, or even if she knew he was gone, and he wasn't gonna wait around to find out. Instead, he focused on finding his way to somewhere he could get hold of a phone and call Dean: his cell was (as far as he knew) still in his jeans pocket, back at the Institution. He wasn't sure where she'd taken him, but a feeling in his gut told him he was still in Oklahoma.

_Jesus, it's cold!_ he thought suddenly, shivering, then looked down and saw why. _Crap. Well, that narrows things down a bit. First things first:  
_

* * *

Sam pulled the sweater over his head, relishing the feel of real clothes on his skin. Anything was better than that stupid hospital gown-thing, even old sweatpants and a too-big jumper that were slightly damp from dew. He did feel slightly guilty about stealing clothes from some random washing line (very cliché) but desperate measures were definitely called for. Besides, how was he supposed to get around without being stopped if he looked like an escaped mental patient?

He ripped a strip of cloth from the hospital gown with his teeth and wrapped it around his arm as a makeshift bandage, tensing as the touch of the material made the cuts sting. A thought drifted into his mind as he balled up the rest of the gown and tossed it in a dumpster: _why haven't I passed out from blood loss? _However, he was distracted from this by his stomach cramping again; the alley spun around him and he stumbled against the wall, leaning his back against it until the spinning stopped. He must've been running on vapours, not to have noticed the dizziness before.

When he felt steady enough to walk among people, he emerged from the alley and started to make his way cautiously down the street, keeping his head down. Thankfully, it was early in the morning – before six, by his reckoning – so there weren't many people about, and those who he passed were focused on getting to (or home from) work, and paid him no attention.

Despite this, his palms were slick with sweat and his heart was hammering as he reached the corner and glanced around for a street sign. _Hang on…_ Remembering the street name from a local map, he worked out that he was only a few blocks from the motel he and Dean had agreed to meet at if they'd gotten split up. _Thank you, whoever's listening up there,_ he thought, fervently, as he started walking, grateful that the few people he passed were too tired or distracted to notice his occasional winces and his face getting progressively paler. _Please be there, Dean..._

* * *

The knock at the door made them both jump, and Bobby glanced over at Dean without raising his head. "You call for pizza?"

"…Nope." Dean was mystified. He walked cautiously over to the door, grabbing his gun off the table, and grasped the door-handle, wishing there was a peep-hole in the door. He turned the handle slowly, keeping the gun raised, and –

_"Dude, let me in."_

The voice was quiet, but instantly recognisable. Dean froze, then threw the door open. "Sam?"

"Hey," Sam muttered, leaning against the door-frame. Even from across the room, Bobby could see his face was pale and he was favouring his left side.

"Well, so much for us findin' him," Bobby commented.

Dean ignored him. "What the hell happened to you?" He grabbed Sam's arm and helped him inside, lowering him carefully into a chair by the table.

As Sam leaned back, bowing his head with his eyes closed, Dean spotted the bloody 'bandage' covering his left arm. "Let me see that," he said, pulling up a chair next to Sam's. Bobby wheeled himself over in time to see Dean unravelling the fabric and revealing the three identical wounds, which were still weeping blood. Sam hissed through gritted teeth as the cuts were exposed to the air. The burning felt like it was getting worse.

"We need to get him to a hospital," Bobby was saying when Sam zoned back in. "We can't be sure how much blood he's lost but I'm bettin' it's a lot."

Dean nodded, but Sam raised his head and said quickly, "No, you mustn't. You can't."

They both frowned at him.

"What're you talkin' about, Sam?" Dean asked, looking worried. _Maybe he's delirious?_

"I…It's…Um…" he trailed off, trying to think of a way to put it without the pair of them flipping out. "You…you know she took my blood?" He made the statement a question.

"We'd guessed, yeah," Bobby replied, hoping this wasn't going where he thought it was going. "What about it?"

"Well…"

Sam left the word hanging and Dean's eyes widened in horror. "She didn't…!"

His brother nodded, wincing again. "She did," he said simply.

Dean didn't say anything for a minute; he was having trouble digesting this new piece of information. "I still think we should get you checked out," he said, finally.

Bobby opened his mouth, but Sam beat him to it. "No, Dean! You can't do that. You know you can't." He swallowed. "Look, if I'm…changed, or whatever, I can't be exposed to people until we know for sure. Okay?"

"He's right."

Dean turned to Bobby in amazement. "So what, we're just gonna sit here and hope he doesn't die of blood loss?"

"No, we treat him ourselves. You can stitch, right?" Bobby returned.

"Even if we do, what are we gonna do about…you know…?"

"Hey! I'm right here, you know," Sam protested, irritated that they were talking about him like he wasn't sitting right between them.

His brother ignored him. "If he's a ticking time-bomb, we can't keep him here."

"That, I agree with." Bobby grabbed one of the maps off the table and scanned it. "There," he said, pointing to a small cross marked on a patch of green. "There's an old huntin' cabin not far from town. We can take him there. Need to move, anyway. She'll be out here followin' his trail as soon as she finds he's missin'."

"Fine. First things first." Dean got up and grabbed his duffel-bag from the bed, pulling out his med kit and hip-flask of whiskey. He opened it and offered it to his brother; Sam eyed it for a moment, then chuckled mirthlessly and took the whiskey out of Dean's hand. He took a gulp of it, wincing as it burned the back of his throat, then handed it back. He barely felt the sting of the alcohol as Dean cleaned the cuts, or the sharp sting as the needle and thread went through his skin; the burning sensation that had spread from the cuts was cooling to a weird sort of numbness.

* * *

**As always, R and R please :P Even if you're just telling me you like frogs, or something. I like frogs too ^_^  
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**Hope you're enjoying it it, new chapter should be up soon ;P  
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	9. Part 9: Hope?

**'Sup, fellas! ^_^**

**Great to see another two reviews added to my increasing pile :P Every new review I get earns me a cookie, and the more cookies I get, the faster I write, so more reviews add up to more chapters, if you catch my drift? ;-D**

**

* * *

Hope?**

* * *

Sam glanced over at his brother, his stomach clenching as he saw Dean staring fixedly at his gun. At the table. The door. At anything except his brother. Dean had stitched him up with clinical detachment, then once he was sure Sam wasn't bleeding anymore, ignored him completely.

**_You shouldn't have told him._**

_...What, so I was supposed to wait until I became a blood-sucking monster, _then _break the news? Yeah, that'd go down a treat. _

**_He's scared of you. _**

"_Shut up!" _Sam hissed.

"What?" Dean looked up, still not meeting his brother's eyes. "You say something?"

Sam didn't realised he'd said that out loud. "Nothing," he replied, a little too fast. _The last thing I need is for him to think I'm crazy, too. _

Bobby looked round; Dean had gone back to his gun-cleaning and Sam was sitting cross-legged on the bed, his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his clasped hands, the same way he'd been sitting for the last hour since they arrived at the cabin. That hour had been spent scouring the internet and all their journals and notes for a solution to their (or rather, _Sam's_) problem, and they'd had no trouble with that. It even said something about the seriousness of the situation that Sam had let someone else use his precious laptop!

Yeah, they'd had no difficulty with that. Apart from refusing to look at each other.

Suddenly, Sam got up and walked across to the bathroom door. Bobby watched him go, then turned his chair to face Dean. "Right, this is gettin' stupid." He closed the laptop and gave Dean his best stern glare. "This is not gonna fix itself by you not lookin' at each other! Come on, Dean. Sam needs you right now, and you're..."

"What? I'm _what_, Bobby?" Dean snapped, uncomfortably aware of how close to the truth Bobby's words were.

"You're abandoning him. Yeah, I said it," Bobby added, at the look on Dean's face.

Dean didn't reply, but looked down at his hands, ashamed. _This isn't Sam's fault, so why are you making him suffer? _

"You're his big brother, Dean."

"I know, Bobby. I guess it's just..." He paused, running a hand through his hair. "I... Well..." He stopped and shook his head. "No, you know what? You're right: there _is _no excuse."

"Damn right there isn't," Bobby replied, not entirely unkindly. He turned away as the bathroom door opened, and Dean distinctly heard the word, "Idjit," muttered just loud enough for him to hear.

Dean looked up as his brother sat back down on the bed, his face pale. On impulse, he got up and sat beside him. "How you holdin' up?" he asked, with only slight awkwardness.

Sam looked at him in surprise, then replied, "Okay, I guess. My head still hurts, but I can deal."

His brother nodded and said, hesitantly, "We're gonna figure this out, Sammy, okay?"

"Yeah." Sam sounded so... like he really believed Dean's words; it made Dean feel even more guilty for the way he'd been treating him. Sam needed looking after right now, even if he didn't really want it, and it was Dean's job to look after his little brother. It always had been.

"Hey boys, I've got somethin'," Bobby said, without looking up from the computer.

"Come again?" Dean and Sam stood up at the same time. They crossed the room and stood on either side of Bobby's chair, staring at the screen.

"What've you got?" Sam asked, frowning.

"Might be a way to prove whether or not you're gonna turn, Sam." Bobby looked up; the look of hope on the younger man's face was heartbreaking.

"How?" Dean almost barked in his impatience.

"Alright, alright." Bobby scrolled down the screen a bit. "Now, no-one's ever run into something like this and lived before now, so it's a _little _bit of guesswork, but it's better than nothin'." He highlighted a passage on the screen and continued. "All the victims of this creature were found with the same wounds, right?"

"Yeah, a cut on the left arm." Dean nodded.

"Just like Sam's, only he's got three. Now, that makes _me _think that maybe she's only gotta feed from someone once to kill 'em, but three times to change 'em. With the killing's, she just drained their blood till they dropped, but she gave you some of her blood back, didn't she?" He addressed the last sentence at Sam, who nodded once.

"But from what you said, the bitch only gave you her blood _twice_, right?" Dean asked his brother, who nodded again.

"Yeah, I got away before she came back," Sam answered. Then he paused, frowning. "So, that means..." he said slowly.

"...That she didn't make all three exchanges. So Sam might not become like her?" Now Dean was looking to Bobby for answers.

"What did she tell you about it, Sam?" Bobby deflected Dean's question towards Sam.

The younger hunter didn't reply right away. Eventually he said, "She said the different blood sorta…fights it out, inside you, and depending on which side wins, you become…like her, or stay human. It depends on how much of their blood you're given." He looked up. "I don't know how much she gave me, so I don't know what I'm gonna become."

"Anything else?" Dean asked, catching something in his brother's tone.

"Yeah…If there's an equal amount of each type, they cancel each other out. Kinda like when an electron meets a positron, they annihilate each other."

"…Huh?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, College boy, but I don't do geek-speak."

Despite himself, Sam rolled his eyes. "Basically, if there isn't a majority on one side or the other, both sides lose and you…you die." His exasperated tone sobered as he finished; he cast his eyes back down and went back to staring at the screen, not wanting to see his brother's expression.

"So you've got a one-in-three chance of staying human?"

"Staying human and _alive_…yeah."

_Damn that bitch to Hell; I hope she rots there…_ Dean clenched his fists, struggling to control his anger. "Well, we've had worse odds," he said, forcing a grin.

"You got that right," Bobby said, then paused thoughtfully. Eventually, he continued, "We mustn't get ahead of ourselves. This ain't exactly a scientific investigation here, fellas. But," he added, as Dean opened his mouth to interrupt, "there's no harm in a bit o' hope, eh?"

Sam chuckled; for the first time since he'd been kidnapped, the sound actually held some mirth. After a few seconds, Dean smiled too.

_Maybe, just maybe, we _can _get through this... _

_

* * *

The moonlight which filters through the canopy barely touches the forest floor; tiny speckles of silver mark where stars can be seen between the spreading branches heavy with wide leaves. An owl swoops across from one tree to another on silent wings, a stark white ghost against a black backdrop. No other life is visible, all scurrying voles and foraging raccoons seeking shelter from the oncoming storm. _

_ He steps out from the shadows, eyes scanning for movement. Detecting none, he takes another cautious step, shifting his grip on the knife held firmly in his right hand. Anyone watching from a distance would think him fearless, as he faces whatever hides in the dark armed only with a blade and his wits, but someone closer would hear his heart hammering against his ribs and see the sweat beading on his forehead. He tenses, then takes another tentative step. _

_ Almost as though someone had placed it there on purpose, the dry branch snaps beneath his foot with a 'crack' that shatters the silence like a gunshot. He glances around wildly, as something else steps out of the shadows. _

_ Or rather, some_one_. _

_ The fight is swift, but brutal. After less than two minutes, the first man is slumped unconscious, the second, taller figure pulling him up into a sitting position before kneeling beside him and taking the blade from his limp hand. In one smooth movement, he slices through the left shirt sleeve and into the skin below; the rich scent of blood fills the air as he rips back the sleeve and bows his head to drink from the cut. _

_ Blood drips from Sam's chin and hands as he drinks; his eyes are closed and his features hold a rapt expression of pure exultation. A minute or so later, he drops Dean's arm and opens his eyes. Anyone watching would see them change suddenly from their beautiful green to a deep inky black, with bright flecks of silver dancing in their depths, as if someone had flicked a switch inside his head. He blinks slowly; when his eyes open, the blackness has vanished, as though it had never been. _

* * *

**Da da DA! What's gonna happen next? ;P**

**Sorry for shortness, this chapter's more of an explainer than anything else, so I apologise for boringness/lack of action XD**

**Reviews mean updates, so please comment and send me your views! Anything you like/don't like, or things I could do better, or whatever you like ;-P  
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	10. Part 10: Fever

**Herrow! **

**Nearly there, just a couple more chapters... :P**

**Haven't written the disclaimer for a couple of chapters, so here it is: I do not own Supernatural, or any characters from Supernatural. *Waaaaa...***

**(Oh, and _CeCe Away: _thanks for the cookie, it was delicious :D Choc chip is my favourite ^_^)**

**

* * *

Fever**

* * *

Sam jerked awake, knocking his head on something hard.

"Ouch…" he muttered, glancing around blearily. _Hang on… I swear the bed wasn't _this _hard…_

Sitting up, he realised he was lying on the floor, the hard-wood planks making his back and shoulders ache. The hard thing that he'd knocked his head on turned out to be the leg of the bed he should have been lying in.

"Sam."

Sam looked up to see his brother watching him from a chair across the room. "...Hey."

"You okay?" Dean asked, sounding concerned.

"Yeah. Fine," Sam lied, running a hand through his hair. "What...what time is it?" he yawned.

"Ten." His brother walked over and sat on the bed. "Sam, what're you doin' on the floor?"

"Uh...fell out of bed?" Sam raised his eyebrows in an 'isn't it obvious' expression.

Dean chuckled. "Yeah. Whatever, dude. Breakfast?" _What's _wrong_ with him? He never sleeps this late._

"Mm hmm." _Just a dream. That's all, a stupid dream. Get a grip!_

Dean walked away towards the kitchen; Sam slowly got to his feet, then promptly fell over onto his back on the bed. "Aah!"

"What's wrong?" Dean was back across the room in three strides.

Sam sat up quickly, rubbing his eyes. "...Got up too fast. Head rush."

"O...kay..." Dean wasn't convinced, but went back to his foraging. Sam rolled his eyes, then got up, more slowly this time, prepared for the dizziness. When the room had resumed its normal position (in other words, not spinning) he walked across the room and joined his brother in the kitchen.

"So, what've we got?" he asked, eyeing the cupboards full of cans.

Dean grabbed two cans of SpaghettiOs and held them up, grinning. "Just like old times, eh?"

They were still chuckling when Bobby came in; he took one look at them and rolled his eyes. _They bounce back just like kids,_ he thought. _God help 'em._

"Yeah." Dean tossed one of the cans to Sam and they ate quickly, while Bobby continued scanning documents and web pages, searching for any signs of wraith activity.

They'd been searching for hours, but so far had found no evidence that the creature had killed again. No deaths at the Institution, none in the surrounding area, not even a Missing-Persons hit or two. It was strange, almost as if she was distracted by something else.

Or _someone_ else.

Dean had already voiced the theory that maybe the wraith was too busy looking for Sam, to finish the job, and wasn't interested in killing anyone else. That meant that their best bet was to kill her before she killed them. Unfortunately, she'd become impossible to find.

* * *

Several hours later, they'd definitely run out of luck. No bright ideas had struck them; there had been no sudden helpful updates on the Internet, nothing. The only thing that had changed was Sam's headache.

He closed his eyes; his headache had turned from a slightly annoying prickle to a piercing ache just behind his eyes. Every time he thought it was going away, it surged back with greater intensity, until he thought his head might explode.

"Sam?" Dean asked, glancing up to where Sam sat cross-legged on the bed. He'd noticed Sam's face growing steadily paler, and the way he kept touching his forehead as if in pain.

"I'm okay," Sam muttered, opening his eyes again and looking up. "Really, Dean, I'm fine."

His brother chuckled. "Yeah. 'course you are."

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but another flare of pain made him groan. "Ah..."

Dean got up and walked over to sit on the bed next to Sam. He nudged his arm, then frowned, thinking worriedly, _He's a bit warm..._ He touched a hand to the side of Sam's face. "Dude, you're burning up! Why didn't you say something?"

"Hmm?" Sam closed his eyes again. The pain made it hard to focus on what Dean was saying, but he pushed through, thinking wearily, _You've been through worse._ He tuned in to hear Dean saying, "I'm just gonna take your temperature, okay, Sammy?"

Normally Sam would have been insulted by Dean talking to him like he was a kid, but right now it was comforting to know that Dean was looking after him. "Dean, I...I don't...feel right..." he muttered, struggling to focus on anything besides the pain.

"Well, that makes sense, seein' as you're... Jesus, 104.6!"

"That can't be good," Bobby said, appearing beside the bed. "There's an ice box out the back, Dean. I'll get some towels."

"'Kay." Dean rested his hand on his brother's forehead for a moment. He could feel the heat from inches away. _God, please, no..._ "Hang in there, Sammy, okay?"

"Mmm..." Sam raised his head and met Dean's gaze; the latter had to stop himself from wincing at the pain he could see in his brother's eyes. He got Sam to lie back and, pulling off his jumper, folded it up for a pillow. Then, after checking Sam was as comfortable as he could make him, he got up and practically ran to the back door.

He pulled open the door and spotted the freezer in the corner, praying there was still something in there they could use. Bobby had said the cabin had been disused for some time, but there was still some electricity from tapped power-lines which, hopefully, still ran to the freezer. "Please, please, please..." he muttered, wrenching the heavy lid up. "Yes!"

It wasn't cold enough to actually _freeze_ anything, but it was cold enough to have chilled the large bottles of water stacked inside. Dean grabbed two in each hand and shut the lid, dashing back through to the other room. Bobby had found a small stack of washcloths under the sink and, after checking it was clean, Dean soaked one of them in the cold water and laid it across Sam's forehead. Sam moaned, his face creasing, as he turned his head away.

"It's okay, Sammy. It's gonna make you better." Dean didn't know what he was more scared by: the fever, or his own anxiety. It was as if Sam had become the vulnerable little kid from years ago. Despite all his years of experience looking after his brother, Dean was frightened by how helpless he felt.

Sam moaned again, his eyes opening a crack. They swivelled, unfocused, until they fixed on Dean and he forced them to focus. "D...Dean?" he whispered.

"I'm here, Sammy." Dean reached over and grasped Sam's hand, squeezing reassuringly. "How d'you feel?" he asked, to fill the silence.

"...Crap," Sam muttered. "Wha...What's wrong...with me?"

"We're not sure," Dean replied, grimacing. He glanced down at the bandage on Sam's arm, then let go of Sam's hand and started to undo the bandage, gently lifting the dressings so he could see the stitched cuts beneath. Sam hissed in pain as the touch of the air started the cuts stinging again. "Sorry, sorry..." Dean quickly replaced the bandage. The wounds looked clean; there was no redness or swelling, so they weren't infected. But then why did Sam feel like he was about to spontaneously self-combust? It didn't make sense.

"'S'okay..." Sam closed his eyes again, trying to ignore the voice in the back of his head. It was like a constant mutter; it had been there since he'd been taken in the first place, but now it was louder, screaming at him through the mist of pain.

**_You know what you need. Take it! _**

**_ You can't fight forever._**

**_ Is it so different from the things you've already done? _**

**_ All those human hosts you slaughtered, just so you could drink them dry. Is this any less evil?_**

Sam clenched his fists, resisting the urge to scream back at the voices inside his head; their incessant clamour was enough to drive anyone insane. The noise coupled with the crippling pain filling his head made it impossible for him to do anything but lie with his hands pressed over his eyes, biting back the screams.

* * *

**Hey guys, hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please review and let me know what you think, I don't mind if it's critical or even just plain random ;-)**

**New chapter should be up soon, I've got a lot of free time this week XD**

**See ya! ^_^ **

**xoxox**


	11. Part 11: End of the Line

**Good morning! Or afternoon, whatever X**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the show or its characters, I just like to mess about with them. (Hehe, mess about - I wish ;P)**

**To continue!  
**

* * *

**End of the Line**

* * *

Dean wrung out the cloth again and laid it across his brother's forehead. Sam moaned again, his eyes moving beneath their lids as he slid through fevered dreams.

Bobby was on the internet again, looking up everything he could on 'hyperpyrexia', which Dean understood to mean a dangerously high temperature (once Bobby had explained it to him). He'd tried to help Bobby with his research, but words kept jumping out of the screen at him, phrases like 'medical emergency' and 'serious underlying problems'.

_Man, where's a freakin' angel when you need one?_

"De...Dean..." Sam muttered, frowning.

"I'm here, Sammy. I'm right here," Dean said, knowing Sam couldn't hear him. He reached over and brushed away the damp strands of hair stuck to Sam's face. "You found anything?" he asked Bobby, without looking up.

"Only that Sam should be in a hospital," Bobby replied, tersely. "There's nothin' more we can do here, Dean. All we _can_ do is keep doin' what we're doin' until the fever breaks on its own."

_If it breaks on its own,_ Dean added silently. He leaned over to grab the glass of water off the nightstand. "Come on, Sammy, you gotta drink something," he said, sliding a hand between Sam's head and the pillow so he could help him sit up a little. Sam's eyelids flickered but didn't open; nevertheless he parted his lips as Dean tipped the glass to allow a few drops of water to trickle into his mouth. He coughed, but managed to swallow painfully.

Seeing that Sam wasn't gonna drink any more, Dean laid his head back on the makeshift pillow and set the glass down. _At least he drank something,_ he thought, remembering something his dad had told him about fevers. '_If you keep the patient hydrated, they usually cool down faster.'_ He didn't even know if it was true, but at this point he was willing to try anything that might help.

"There're some things that could help," Bobby said hesitantly, "but they're only available... Yep, you guessed it: _in a hospital_."

"Fan-freakin'-tastic..." Dean exhaled sharply, but Bobby wasn't finished.

"I know I'm not exactly in any position to drive, but I've got a friend who can pick me up. We'll get the stuff, you stay and look after Sam."

"But-"

Bobby held up a hand. "It's no good, Dean. Someone's gotta go get some proper meds for Sam, and as you're on pretty much every wanted list in the continental US, it'd better be me that gets 'em."

"Yeah... I can't help anyone if I'm behind bars," Dean agreed (albeit unwillingly), glancing down at his brother as he spoke. Sweat glistened on Sam's skin as he tossed and turned in the throes of a feverish nightmare.

* * *

"I'll be as quick as I can, 'kay?" Bobby said as he wheeled himself towards the door.

Dean nodded once. "Be quicker," he replied, shortly.

The unfamiliar engine snarl faded into the distance and Dean reached over to grab the cloth from the nightstand, dipping it in the cold water again and wiping the sweat from Sam's face and neck. Then he got up, being careful not to jostle the bed, and walked across the room to the table. He grabbed the half-empty bottle of whiskey in one hand and a chair with the other, pulling the chair up to the side of the bed. "Well, Sammy," he said, opening the bottle, "it's gonna be a long night."

* * *

Pain; endless, disorientating and impossible to ignore, it burned through him like a raging inferno. Demons danced between the flames, along with more familiar faces. _Is this it? _he wanted to scream. _Is this where I stop being human and become the monster I was born to be?_

He was aware of Dean's presence, and every now and then he felt a cooling touch on his face and neck, but it was as effective as a drop of water on the scorching flames that were surely burning him to a crisp. It could have been hours, days or even weeks; he had no idea how long he'd been ill, but he felt that, while the pain didn't lessen, it was becoming more bearable. He frowned a little, trying to find the right muscles to open his eyes.

After a few seconds, he managed to open them a crack. the ceiling was blurred, but it didn't spin or start swimming around, which he took to be a good sign. He turned his head slowly, wincing as his headache flared, then managed to focus. Dean was slumped in the chair beside the bed, a mostly-empty bottle of what looked like whiskey cradled in one arm. Sam opened his mouth to speak to him, but his throat was so dry, all that came out was a whispered croak. Dean didn't even stir. Sam reached out his hand to–

**_What are you doing? _**

The furious question took him by surprise. _What does it look like?_

**_Get out of here, get away from them! _**

_But...they're helping me..._

_ **No! As soon as they know what you are, they'll kill you! **_

_Dean wouldn't do that. _Sam knew that was true, as simple as breathing. Dean wouldn't let _anything_ happen to him.

**_But he did, didn't he? He let you become this._**

Sam tried to think of a reply, but the voice, or whatever it was, was right. He was painting a target on his forehead if he stayed here. _Bobby..._

_He's not here._

Sam wasn't sure how he knew, but he just knew that it was just himself and Dean in the cabin. It was like a...a sixth sense or something. _Or would it be seventh? _he wondered randomly. _Cos of my weird ESP thing..._

**_Stay focused. If you can get to the back door, you're free._**

Sam nodded to himself and slowly sat up, tentatively shifting his weight; the bed didn't make much noise and he was able to pull himself into a sitting position without so much as a creak. He was surprised to find he wasn't too weak, despite his condition. The room felt freezing, but as he glanced down at his arm he saw no goose-bumps on his skin. _Must be the fever,_ he observed, trying (not entirely successfully) to stop himself shivering. His head still hurt like hell, but the burning ache in his arm had gone and his innards felt almost back to normal.

Actually, he felt hungry.

He still felt he ought to wake Dean, tell him what was going on, but he knew the inner voice was right. If he stayed, he'd end up killing someone, and that would mean they'd have to kill _him_. He wouldn't put Dean through that, not killing his own brother. Casting his mind back, he remembered what Dean had said the last time they'd talked about it. Granted, he'd been possessed by a demon at the time, but his point still stood, and Dean's reply had been the same:

_"I won't kill my own brother. I'd rather die."_

That made up his mind: he had to leave. Now, before Bobby got back and Dean woke up. Judging from the amount of whiskey left in the bottle, Dean would be out of it for at least another hour – plenty of time. Sam glanced around and his eye was caught by a scrap of paper lying on the table.

How he got from the bed to the table without falling over or making a sound was beyond him, but somehow he managed it; grabbing a pencil, he thought for less than a minute, then scribbled something on the paper, signed it and laid it on the bed. He went to Dean's duffel-bag, grabbing a change of clothes and his favourite 9-millimetre. Then, he pulled out his shotgun and looked at it for a few seconds, before putting it back. _He'll need it more than I will._

Once he'd put his things together in a bag, he went out to the back room where Dean had run earlier – Or was it yesterday? He couldn't tell – and found the ice-box of water. He grabbed two bottles and stuffed them into his bag, testing its weight on his shoulder. He was still shaky, still shivering, but he seemed to have regained at least some of his strength.

**_Good, you'll need that. _**

_What am I supposed to do now? Just...leave?_

Even as he asked the question, he found he already knew the answer. Yes; he had to leave, before he did something that couldn't be fixed.

_Couldn't be fixed... _Like him. He was damaged, broken, a burden to his family; what family he had left, anyway. It was doing them a favour, taking himself out of the picture.

Before he could change his mind or lose his nerve, he picked up his bag and, with one last look at his brother, who was still sleeping soundly in the chair beside the now empty bed, exited the room, the cabin, and his old life.

That wasn't him anymore. He'd changed too much.

As he started to jog towards the road, filled with grim determination, he resisted the urge to look back at the cabin. Bobby and Dean were all he had left of his family; how could he subject them to the torture of seeing him become this...this monster? Sure, Dean had been teasing him about being a freak all his life, but this was a whole new level of freak, even for them.

_Goodbye, Dean. _

* * *

**Hope you liked! Please review and thank you to all the lovely people who have already shared their views :-) Very much appreciated ^_^**

**Not long left to go now :-)  
**

**I'm going to Scotland this weekend so no updates until I get back, I'm afraid, but I should at least be able to finish writing the thing while I'm up there :-P**

**See ya! ^_^ **

**xoxox**


	12. Part 12: False Prophecy

**I'm baaack :) **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the show or characters, just having a little fun with them ;P  
**

**Here it is, the penultimate chapter...  
**

* * *

**False Prophecy  
**

* * *

"Dean?" Bobby called, kicking the door shut behind him as he came in carrying a paper bag of what, to the untrained eye, looked like groceries. "How's the..."

The word 'patient' trailed away as he took in the sight of Dean, sitting on an empty bed, holding a piece of paper, his face white.

"What the hell happened? Where's Sam?" Bobby demanded, tossing the bag onto the table and wheeling himself over to the bed as quickly as he could.

Dean wordlessly held out the paper, putting his face in his hands as Bobby took it.

'_Dean._

_ I'm sorry. I know this wasn't the solution you wanted, but I won't let anyone else get killed because of me. _

_Please don't look for me. I can't be a part of this life anymore. _

_ I hope you don't hate me too much._

_ Sam'_

"He hasn't..." Bobby trailed off at the look on Dean's face.

He wore the expression of a man who had lost everything it was possible to lose, and then lost everything else.

* * *

Thirst burned in Sam's throat as he ran; he'd been ignoring it for hours but in the last few minutes the pain had redoubled, driving all else from his mind. He skidded to a stop, catching himself on a tree, and reached in his bag for the water.

The top wouldn't come off. He gripped it between his teeth, wrenching at it, but it wouldn't turn. _Come on, come on, please! _He tore at it one last time, desperate, and with a crackling, ripping sound, the entire top of the bottle – cap, neck and all – tore away in his teeth. He spat it to one side and upended the bottle, draining it in one go. Throwing the empty bottle aside, he leaned his back against the tree and closed his eyes, breathing heavily. For a few seconds, at least, the burning thirst was alleviated.

Suddenly, his stomach lurched. He gasped, pressing a hand to his stomach as his knees gave way; he doubled over and was violently sick. _What the hell?_ he thought, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and reeling back to lean against the tree again.

**_You're not thirsty for water. _**

_Shut...shut up! _he retorted, somewhat weakly. Still feeling faintly nauseous, he stayed where he was for another minute or so, until something made him turn around: a heavy footfall, behind him.

He whipped his head around, ignoring the ache the quick movement caused, and froze when he saw what had made the noise.

The bear tilted its head on one side, as though trying to work out what he was. From what Sam could see, it was young, a juvenile, and lacking the experience of a seasoned hunter. Despite this, it was a very dangerous animal and, for the first time since he'd left, Sam found himself wishing he'd brought the shotgun. The creature ambled closer, watching him steadily with small, dark eyes, until it was less than five yards away from him.

All of his senses were screaming at him to run, to shoot, to do something, _anything_; instead, he slowly reached upwards to where a short branch jutted out of the trunk and pulled himself to his feet, never taking his eyes off the bear. Adrenaline rushed through his veins as he wondered, with a strange sense of unreality, if the bear would kill him quickly. But then, he heard something which changed the situation.

A loud, thudding heartbeat.

It was as if the sound triggered some sort of physiological reaction. All at once, he could hear everything: the crackle of the leaves a hundred yards above them, the slight rustling of the animal's fur as it moved closer. Not only sound, but suddenly his muscles were tensing, his knees bending slightly in anticipation. The bear gave a 'humph' sort of sound, then raised a paw and brought it down with a thud. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sam knew that meant he should leave, but he stayed where he was, unmoving until the bear finally lost patience and started forwards, its intention clear.

Sam was ready for it.

Keeping hold of the tree branch in one hand, he spun in a tight circle around the tree and wrenched the branch from the trunk, leaving him holding a heavy two-foot weapon with several sharp points sticking out of one end. He didn't waste time after that; as the bear recovered and came in for another strike, he reached towards it with his free hand, dodging the sharp teeth, and grabbed a handful of fur, pulling hard at the same time as he stabbed the sharp end of the branch firmly into the side of the bear's neck. The force of his attack, as well as the animal's momentum, shoved the wooden spike through the thick layers of fur and skin and into the creature's throat. It let out an ear-splitting roar and tried to swipe at him with its claws, but the damage was too great and after only a few seconds, the animal slumped onto its side, eyes clouding over. Dark blood was pouring from the deep wound, soaking into its matted fur, its rich scent filling the air; Sam raised his hand and examined the smears of dark liquid clinging to his skin, then without further thought lifted it to his mouth and licked the blood off his fingers.

The moment he tasted it, he knew what it was he needed to do. Keeling beside the dead bear, he yanked out the branch and pressed his face to the blood-soaked fur, feeling the warm blood filling his mouth. He swallowed greedily, drinking until the corpse ran dry.

As soon as he was finished, he sat back on his heels and put his head in his hands. _What am I doing?_

_ **You're doing the right thing.**_

_I've heard that before..._

_ **This is how those 'good' vamps were doing it, and this way you can feed without hurting people!**_

_...I just killed a bear. With my bare hands. _

_ **All part of the process, Sam. **_

_Screw the freakin' _process_, I never wanted this! _He stood up and grabbed his bag, jogging away from the grisly scene. Sooner or late, someone was gonna find the body, and he'd better be out of the area by then. He felt a twinge of remorse as he left the bear where it had fallen, an empty shell of the magnificent creature it could never grow to become.

* * *

_How could he do this to me?_

Dean stared out of the darkened window, not seeing anything. _Sam's out there, somewhere, alone, all because... _

_ I let him down. _

_ Dammit, Sam, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry..._

Turning from the window, he walked across the room to the door. He could feel Bobby's eyes on him, but he didn't meet his gaze, nor did he offer any explanations as he pulled the door open and stepped outside, kicking it shut behind him.

The darkness was absolute, the only light present being from the windows of the cabin, casting monstrous shadows. All was still and silent, aside from his own movement and the swift, silent flight of a white owl overhead. Despite himself, he pulled his knife from his belt, gripping the handle firmly. His eyes darted across the ground, the trees, but they picked up nothing. His heartbeat quickened but he didn't move. Something was watching him, he knew it, but he couldn't bring himself to care. If it was her, then he just hoped she'd kill him quickly. If it was Sam...

A loud crack made him jump, then quickly glance around. He cursed under his breath as he spotted the twig he'd stepped on. _Rookie mistake,_ he thought scathingly.

* * *

Sam watched his brother from the shadows between the trees, every fibre in his body yearning to step forwards, to embrace him, tell him he was okay. But he couldn't. The risk was too great, the memory of what he'd seen in his dream all too vivid in his mind. He wouldn't let it happen.

As with the bear, he could hear his brother's heartbeat clearly, the sound so full of life it hurt. He'd been shocked and more than a little freaked out by the discovery that he no longer had a heartbeat. It was exactly as if he'd died and been reanimated, as if that was what the wraith's blood had done to him. The painfully familiar lub-dub of his brother's blood pumping brought the thirst back with a vengeance, burning his throat like a white-hot brand. He wanted... _No,_ _I can't..._ He wanted, _so much_, to walk out there, rip out Dean's throat and drink him dry.

His muscles tensed, awaiting the orders to move forwards and take down his prey; he bent his knees slightly and...

...Turned away.

He would be hunting tonight, the thirst commanded it, but he'd kill himself before he harmed a human, much less his own brother. There was no power, supernatural or otherwise, that could make him bring harm to Dean.

_No_, he thought firmly, as he walked away, leaving Dean standing alone under the trees. _Vision or no vision. Not gonna happen. _

As he went, two thoughts occurred to him: First, this was the first time he'd had a vision since Azazel's death, the first he'd had that wasn't connected to the demon. The second (more optimistic) thought was that he had managed to stop it from happening; he had prevented himself from murdering Dean.

_And that's how it's gonna stay. No-one else is dying because of me. _

**_Very chivalrous._** For the first time, the voice sounded almost _flippant._

_No, no chivalry. It's doing the right thing to do. That's all. _Sam raised his head and caught the scents drifting on the air; bear, lynx, wolverine, marten. None of them smelled anywhere near as appealing as human, but if he was to survive without killing, he'd settle for anything.

Beneath his feet, he heard the scurrying sounds of smaller mammals as they fled from his presence, and felt slightly saddened. No living creature would want to be near him ever again, not now. Nevertheless, his pace increased until he was running through the forest, the sickness from earlier gone without trace, in search of something he could kill.

* * *

Dean felt, rather than heard or saw, that whatever had been watching him was gone. Part of him wished it would come back, either to finish the job or (if it was Sam) so that he could take a swing for scaring him like that. But the more practical part of his brain reminded him that, whatever happened, he needed to go back to Bobby. The old hunter was all he had left, after all, and he and Sam were like sons to him.

He turned and, after one last desolate sweep of the trees, headed back towards the cabin, shoving his knife roughly back into his belt as the darkness swallowed him and his brother like a hungry animal, ripping them apart and pitching them in different directions.

* * *

**Back from Scotland, so I'm back to updating ****now :-P**

**Please R and R, as always, I am eternally grateful to the wonderful people who have given their views. Much love! :-)  
**

**See ya! ^_^ **

**xoxox**


	13. Epilogue: Broken Saviours

**Hi guys! **

**I, 666-HyuugaNeji-999, proudly present the final installment of 'I'm Not Insane'! **

**I really hope you're liking it so far, and that the ending doesn't disappoint ;-)  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the TV show or its characters, just like to have a little fun with them ;-P  
**

**Here we go...  
**

* * *

**Epilogue: Broken Saviours**

* * *

Lights flashed in the rear-view; Dean put his foot down and soon left them behind, the engine roaring as they flew across the tarmac. Reaching down from the wheel, he turned the volume up on the stereo in an attempt to drown out his thoughts with the local radio. He hadn't heard this song before, but it was good. The vocals cut through the loud engine noise and filled the car, making it easy to catch the lyrics.

_"__Taking chances on my dreams _

_At certain times it seems_

_I'm chasing hope to find no ends_

_And I wind up right back here again__…"_

Blinking, he found he had tears in his eyes. _Dammit... I swore I wouldn't get upset today._

It was four months to the day since Sam had left, since he'd last seen his brother. For all he knew, Sam could be...

_No. Don't go there._

He refused to entertain the notion that Sam could be dead. Not that. He could ponder, maybe even _accept_, the possibility that Sam had changed into a creature like the one from the institution; hell, the kid had gotten himself addicted to drinking demon blood, for Christ's sake!

No, this was just another hurdle, another challenge for the Winchester brothers to overcome. And they _would_ overcome it, he was positive of that. John Winchester had proved that not even death could keep the Winchesters from having each other's backs, and his sons weren't about to prove him wrong.

Despite this, he couldn't quite keep back all the tears as the song ended and he reached another crossroads.

Always different directions, even before the truth had started to drive them apart. Dean, the Sword of Michael, and Sam, the true vessel of Lucifer; poles apart, but bound by ties of blood and family.

_See you again, Sammy. _

_ Someday. _

* * *

The scent blew in strongly from the east; he cocked his head, listening hard.

There: he couldn't be certain of what he was looking for until he found it, but that sound was definitely out of place. The woman screamed again and he started to move, blending with the night as easily as a shadow.

Now he was close enough to hear what the woman was saying, between short staccato gasps of panic.

"Please, please, I have a family, my children, please, I'm begging you..."

"Beg all you want, honey. It ain't gonna do you much good."

The new voice brought him up sharp. _Her?_ After all his searching, hunting her across twelve States, he just stumbles across her by accident? _Not likely...  
_

His suspicions were confirmed when she called out, her soft voice carrying easily on the wind. "Sam? Come on out, sweetie."

_Sweetie? She sounds like Bela, _he thought wearily, then stepped out of the shadows between two streetlamps.

The young woman's gasps had quietened to soft whimpers, but as she caught sight of Sam striding towards them, she started to cry out again. "Please, please, help me! She's going to kill me!"

Sam came to a halt and looked at her for a moment. Then he tilted his head slightly on one side, and the light of the lamp behind her caught his eyes, reflecting back like a cat's. She stopped crying, staring at him in horror. "What...what are you?"

He merely smirked, then looked to Karen. "What do you want?"

Karen smiled. "Nice to see you again, Sam. It was rude of you to skip out on me, but I'm glad to see it didn't affect anything." She surveyed him with a critical air, eyeing his stolen clothes and untidy hair. It'd gotten longer since he'd disappeared, now falling down around his face in soft chestnut curves. She seemed to like what she saw.

"Nope. I'm just like you now." Sam smiled fully and added, "What are you doing?"

"'Thought I'd eat out tonight. Care to join me?" She flashed him a sharp-toothed grin.

"Hmm. Dinner for two. Sounds..._romantic_," he said flirtatiously, looking at her with a smirk in his eyes.

She chuckled. "If you like." Then she held up a hand and beckoned. "I can see how thirsty you are, Sam. What've you been feeding on?"

"This and that." He stepped closer. Karen made a face, then flipped open a pocket knife she'd produced from somewhere and sliced the blade across the young woman's forearm. The civilian stared at the cut in horror, opening her mouth to scream, but then her eyes rolled back and she fainted.

"Well, that makes things easier," Karen commented, then continued. "Come on, Sam. I bet you're thirstier than I am."

_Yeah, you're probably right,_ Sam thought, kneeling beside the unconscious woman. Out loud, he said, "Ladies first."

"Oh, honey, you are too kind!" Karen laughed, then bent her head to drink. He reached out as if to put a hand around her waist.

There was a flash of bright silver, then she stiffened, turning her head sharply to stare at him. "Sam? Why...?"

"Because you ruined my life. I can never see my family again. And what about all those innocent people you've killed?" Sam twisted the knife mercilessly, ignoring her gasps of pain.

"G...Girl's gotta eat, Sammy," she choked, smiling despite the blood dribbling over her lips and down her chin.

He snarled and ripped the blade out roughly. "You're no girl," he growled.

She opened her mouth as if to say more, but all that came out was another torrent of dark blood. She choked, her eyes widening, then fell silent, collapsing backwards to lie motionless on the ground.

When the corpse had finally stopped twitching, Sam stood up and glanced at the young woman, who was still lying unconscious on the alley floor, bleeding freely from her cut arm. He stepped over Karen and crouched beside her, grabbing her jumper and ripping away a strip of fabric with ease. After bandaging her wound, he lifted her in his arms and jogged away, leaving the wraith where she had fallen, even in death wearing the guise of the nurse called Karen.

He laid the young woman on a park bench, having checked if anyone was watching, then walked away before temptation got the better of him. After so many months (he'd lost count after three) of satisfying his thirst with animal blood, the scent of human blood was almost unbearable; he felt like a lifelong alcoholic who'd been presented with a glass of finest champagne and told that the world would end if he took one sip.

However, as he walked away in the pale pre-dawn light, he felt a definite lightening in his heart and a slight spring in his step. If he could do this, if he could be so near to human blood and still resist temptation, remain in control of himself...

What was to stop him from continuing his life as a hunter? Killing evil things, saving people, it was in his blood, human or not. He was a hunter to his bones, and would be until the day he died.

That was all he needed to know.

* * *

_"When faith in saviours turns to doubt_

_And your dreams just seem to far away_

_Don't look back on your failures, don't you ever lose your hope_

_In a world of broken saviours, you've got nothing but your own…"_

* * *

**Well, there it is, the finished product! I hope you enjoyed reading this, I certainly enjoyed writing it ;-)  
**

**Lyrics are from the song _Broken Saviours_ by the band _Emerald Rain_, here's a link to the song on youtube - just type the first part and add: **/watch?v=wzK3t4b931E

**(Awesome band, awesome song!)**

**Please review, it's always great to hear from you guys, whether good comments or criticism - both are very much appreciated :-P**

** Very grateful to the people who have already reviewed; it really makes my day when I see another review on my list, seriously :-) Much love to you all! *hugs*  
**

**I'm having thoughts about a sequel, so you may well hear from me again sometime in the near future :-D I gotta write the thing first though... XD **

**It might be a cross-over, so keep an eye out, kay? :-)  
**

**See ya! ^_^ **

**xoxox**


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